It is not the death of youth
that shocks us into grief,
but the sucker-punch reminder
we were never in control.
We cultivate our children
like fresh spring bulbs,
nurturing the blossoms, feeding
the roots, wrenching the weeds
around the tender stem.
The backlash of violence
is nature's thorn prick,
the stabbing truth that
despite our tireless tending,
our perfect homes
and pure intentions,
we will never
spade every flaw
in the flowerbed,
every stone in the soil
slowly choking the roses.
Lori Boulard
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/006-columbines/
